Maladies

February 15th, 2011 § 0 comments § permalink

DAMASK or MALADIES

I

A living picture.
Your image is mirrored
on the surface of my pupil.
No one knows how to keep it
there forever.
Only Death knows these things,
But he cares not to share
With the Living.

II

Even if I knew I possessed a soul,
If it had to descedent to Heaven,
I’d rather stay here, and feel rain on my nose.
I’d keep talking with the Homeless.
My soul’s a stray dog,it has no master,
no master at all.

III

An Animal dressed in human skin
Enters the man’s realm full of oddities.
When it becomes aware of its existence,
will it marvel at or will
it pour scorn on our studied and made-up world?

The expression in its animal eyes,
That expression in his human eyes
when he looks to the night sky; oddly the same.

IV

King Louis XIVth loved his women.
And he made all his bastard sons and daughters
princes and princesses
The Sun King was a father, after all.
Yet we only marvel at Versailles,
The past, its splendour and stench.

V

He was the unhappiest man to ever wear the crown,
Owing this disaster to purity of blood.
The sorrow king whose weeping still
Glides on Escorial’s walls, like living memories,
Mourning for his beloved wife,
And for his life, a joke.

VI

Don’t sing to me the songs of love.
Lorca tried, yet no one
saw meaning in the symbol of orange.
I saw.
Duende then crawled from verse to verse
in his poetry, in search of Saudade -
Duende’s only image of Love.
No one saw that either.

VII

Pretty words and fine metaphors
Are empty Hall of Mirrors in Versailles.
And my verses are nothing but stray dogs
That never knew man.

VIII

He is an atheist who trembles
In the haunted corridor, afraid
His disbelief may cloth itself
in his dead daughter’s curls
and choke him to death.

IX

She carves her reminiscences,
Unloading her mind of all the ideas
She miscarried; those unborn now undead.
“They are the Venetian Seals”, she says,
“Although You may know them by the name ‘Vampires’”,she adds.

X

I’ve got an easy mind, I know now I am unusual writer, As a matter of fact, I am not a writer at all. I am a story teller. I am a blasphemy to the modern trend. I haven’t been writing since I was small, seeking an escape as children usually do. With my childhood friends – and the key to house on my neck – I preferred storming my way into Sheriff of Nottingham’s castle – until my mother would call me for dinner – to the seclusion of child’s imagination crowded with bogus friends. My teen years weren’t any different. I read a lot, never felt the need to write as much as I read. I had stories in my head for my myself and friends. They lived there and that was enough. My mind’s probably one of the finest living books.
And only recently I’ve felt a peculiar urge to put it on paper. But it does not hold any magic to me. Writing is s secondary process, and I come from the family which tradition of oral story telling goes back to the times when my ancestors still lived a nomadic life, and believed – strangely agreeing with Plato – that once a story is written, it is forgotten.

Father Time in the Unusual Disguise

October 1st, 2010 § 0 comments § permalink

Ania sat against the wall and hid her head in hands. Then, the sound was gone and silence seemed even more unbearable. She could hear her own sighing. Suddenly the woman felt someone’s presence. She raised her head and saw the blonde haired man from the club, he was standing on the stairs leading up. Yes, the man looked like he just left the pages of her favourite books, except that he wasn’t Him, he just looked like her Vampire Santa.

A nice trick.

Dreams are insolent.

“Ania, Ania, Ania… you look as if you’re in need of some company…” His voice was rich and melodic.

The woman didn’t reply. Emotionlessly, she just kept staring at him as he began to walk down from the mezzainine storey. The blonde man was wearing her father’s coat, dark red scarf around his neck and leather gloves in the same colour, his hair was combined in ponytail. He stood a few steps in front of her, nonchalantly leaning against the stair banister with his arms crossed on his chest. No one of them spoke. The silence seemed to be getting thicker and thicker, filling and absorbing the space. Ania did everything to not look at him whereas he was staring at her like a leopard at its prey. She was studying the colour and ornament of the stair banister or the shape of door handles. She could swear she saw faces in there. Why was she seeing anthropomorphic motives everywhere?!

Suddenly, he came and sat beside her. Leaning against the wall he sighed deeply.
“You could at least say that you approve the way I look like, I suppose.” His calm voice cut through the silence. Echo was there…

“Or, we can always talk about snow…”

“Why snow?” Ania’s warm but quiet voice filled the space.

“Because…” He took off the red gloves.

She then saw the snow falling down from daylighting in the roof. Someone switched off the light and the snow looked like a silver glittering dust swirling, falling down, dancing in the air with an invisible partner. Before she realised she was smiling, watching that spectacle of light and form.

“I like snow.” He declared.

“Why?”

“Because it reminds me ice-cream and whipped cream aaand…”

“Fair enough.” She shrugged.

“Oh come on, Ania, aren’t you pleased with the way I look like? Not even a little?” The Blonde One teased.

“Who the hell are you?” She was surprised but amused too. “Some kind of dream personification of whimsical vanity? Demanding attention?” She added, looking at his perfectly shaped profile.

“No. But you read Dickens’s ‘A Christmas Carol’. You figure it out.”

“Oh please…” Ania shook her head. “It’s so cliché. You’re the Spirit of Past, Present, Future, Oncle Julien? The way I see it, you seem to be too shallow and vain to be any of these.”

“Past, Present, Future… or simply, Time.”

“Father Time…” Ania concluded. “Why are you wearing my Dad’s coat, Father Time?”

“I like it. Plus, I thought I’d gain your trust faster if I looked like your hero and wore something that belonged to your father.” The man replied, nonchalantly.

“You’re honest. I’ll give you that!”

“I am always honest.”

“Excellent, but I don’t care. Leave me alone.”

“I don’t think you want to be left alone here, now. It must be horrible to realise that even in dreams you can’t save your father..”

“Thank You!” Ania interrupted with the noticeable note of sarcasm in her voice.

Time laughed.

“You’re not going to ‘carpe diem’ and ‘don’t look back’ me now, are you?” She asked.

“Of course not, you’re far too intelligent for that. I am here to mock your melancholia, my dear. Torment your psyche with visions and pictures, torture you with some memories back and forth, that kind of stuff…” He smiled sweetly, toning down his vice to a whisper.
Now it was her turn to burst into laughter.

“That’s bad. I thought you’d teach me how to fly or something. I am dreaming, after all.”

“It can be arranged.” He grinned

“Oh I have no doubt about that, but I am not in the mood for flying now…” The woman said.

“Here, try this…” The man put two purple ball lollypops out of his pocket and gave one to Ania.

“Bon Appetite.”

“I am not a big fan of lollypops.” Ania kept staring at the purple ball candy on a red tiny stick. Something was glittering inside.

“Ohh shushs! You haven’t tasted this one! It’s a sweet cherry flavour with a little bit of currant flavour with a bit of raspberry flavour and…”

“…I hope it won’t turn me into a purple squirrel! Or worse…” She unwrapped the lollypop. Yes, something definitely was glittering inside the ball, a spark of light maybe, or was it a tiny flying creature?

“It’s called Feu Follet.” Time said.

“Fou?” Ania was carefully studying this strange little object.

“Will-o’-the-wisp.” The fair-haired man smiled.

“A lollypop called ‘Will-o’-the-wisp’.” The young woman repeated the word, examing the candy in front of her eyes as if it was a precious gem.

“Well, it has its special properties…” Time put in, unwrapping his candy and putting it into his mouth. “Come on, girl, it’s not a poison.” He was grinning.

“You really do look convincing,” Ania said, “you even have fangs…”
She put the lollypop into her mouth and sucked on it.
Time was studying her with undisguised pleasure.

“Mmm!” Her eyes grew wider. It wasn’t just fruity sweetness! It was an explosion of sweetness, various kinds of sweetness, the whole orchestra! It began like Bolero which musical tempo was slowly rising, deepening and getting wider and wilder, rich, spreading into multiple layers of flavours. Ania felt countless tiny butterflies within her stomach. That was good! No! beyond good! Divine!

But was it safe? What was it? It felt strangely familiar!

“What does it do?” She asked. “What can it do?” Ania asked again.

“Wait until you reach the Spriteess!” Was it Time’s voice or was it Echo? Whose Echo?

Anne Rice left The Church, again.

September 3rd, 2010 § 0 comments § permalink

For Twain’s sake, I have never seen more religiously schizophrenic country than THE United States. This country has so many Christian “factions” that I am sure it makes Jesus and his Twelve Dwarfs roll in their graves. And, in my opinion, most of those “churches” fall under the category of “occult”. But for some reason, must be again that schizophrenia, most of the Americans throw all those occults in the bag with a big label “Christianity” and link it to THE Roman Catholic Church. So, of course, what you get now is this slogan “Organized religion is ‘aevil”” and “THE Church is aevil!”. Epic, really.

If there’s a Devil, he must be the architect of the spiritual/religion system in the America. Brilliant. No better weapon to turn people away from God of Israel than all those American occults that call themselves “Christian”.

Now, let me point out that the Catholic Church is surely not saintly and had been struggling with its own demons and its own illogicalities since its beginnings. But we all do know it, don’t we? I don’t agree with the Church’s “policy” on so many things that, at best, I could be called a heretic….at worst, an antichrist. I myself was born in a Catholic family in one of the most Catholic countries, aside Ireland, Poland. I don’t “practice” this religion, nor was I ever forced to attend Sunday masses. I don’t know, maybe that’s the reason, why my eyes go wider and wider when I read about the spiritual life of the Americans. From the outside European perspective, it’s really hilarious and surreal to watch. It seems to me that my uber-Christian country is more secular and laid-back than the so called secular and tolerant America. No one cares, you know. Your belief, your faith IS your private, even somewhat an intimate matter.

You know, I hesitated whether I should voice my opinion on the subject. But, well, to hell with it! If you’re Anne Rice reader, or an ex-reader, or just happened to add her to your Facebook “like” list because you happened to love the Interview with the Vampire film or book, you know that some time ago she announced on her Facebook she left the Church (again) and quitted Christianity. At the same time Mrs. Rice assured everyone she didn’t quit on Jesus. She basically signed herself off The Club, someone could say. My reaction to that was a bit hmm frivolous, so to speak. I couldn’t help but, hmm, smile. I didn’t have a problem with her leaving the Church and choosing something which I call “the quiet and solitary path”, but the thing which amazed me was her public exaltation with it. Now I do understand she’s a public figure, but I can’t understand how “courageous” is it to “quit religion” in a country like the United States? Nobody holds a gun to your head. If you don’t like the Church, you leave it. More, you’re free to criticise it and no one stones you for doing that.

I’d bow to a Muslim woman who’d publicly renounce her religion in – hmm let me think – Iran. And she would have guts to publicly say “I refuse to be anti-gay. I refuse to be anti-feminist. I refuse to be anti-artificial birth control. I refuse to be anti-Democrat. I refuse to be anti-secular humanism. I refuse to be anti-science. I refuse to be anti-life[...] “

I am more than convinced now that religion and faith – of any kind and source – became the device of spiritual masturbation in the country eaten by materialism and consumptionism. The country in which both religion and faith became “a product” mass-produced and chewed like a hamburger without taste.
The same “orgasmic” effect spiced with the notion of “one’s righteous and moral motives” gives the never-ending criticism on the biggest modern Satan ever created – the Catholic Church.

What we’re left with now is the term Christianity which is abused, misused, misread, misunderstood and above all, no one took time to open a book and read its goddamn definition.

These words make an excellent poster.

August 28th, 2010 § 2 comments § permalink

“Lord, you know better than I know myself that I am getting older and will someday be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion.

“Release me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody, helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom it seems a pity not to use it all, but you know, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.

“Keep my mind from the recital of endless details – give me the wings to come to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing, and my love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter. I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others’ pains, but help me to endure them with patience.

“I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others.

“Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken. Keep me reasonably sweet. I do not want to be a saint – some of them are so hard to live with – but a sour old woman is one of the crowning works of the devil.

“Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and the talents in unexpected people. And give me the grace to tell them so.”

This is said to be attributed to a XVIIth century nun. I’d read that “prayer” in Polish years ago when my mother had brought it from somewhere and had given me without saying anything. I read it and forgot about it. Later I tried finding the English version on the Internet, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t because, for some reason, this prayer (in Polish) is said to be written by Thomas Aquinas and found near his tomb.
I was reading some of notes I did a long ago, losing myself in memories and smiling at things I wrote down, and I found the sheet of paper with that prayer again. I decided to find the English translation again, because I think this prayer is not only funny, but also cheerful and wise.

First and foremost, I was and I am dedicating this “prayer” to myself. Twain knows how often I used to HAVE to say something just BECAUSE, or I’d literally and figuratively burst otherwise. How often I used to feel that I know better what was better for someone.

Laughter.
I’ve been slowly and successfully curing from that disease ever since. It’s a slow process, you know. I am Leo. And Leos are, damn, oh damn. Haha.
One of my most favourite entertainments is to sit back and look at myself, and mock myself, and eventually laugh. Distance to oneself, the world, and life…is indeed the best device to make our stay in this world pleasurable, and not end up insane, bitter, pessimistic….in other words,
a whining dead.

Gothique…

August 27th, 2010 § 0 comments § permalink

Over the years I’ve become unbelievably and annoyingly picky when it comes to the vampire literature. I pick a book in a bookstore, skim through its pages, read a few lines here and a few lines there, and then, usually, I put it down. I can’t be bothered to read it, many of the vampire novels are pale imitations of Rice or Holly Rice. Or they’re like Twilight. It must be said, The XIXth century vampire classics and Rice’s “Chronicals” where the last vampire books which I read from cover to cover. Anything since then has been nothing but… “skimming”, often without finishing. I easily get discouraged if a writer tries to imitate Rice’s style.
Or I if am served something like “Vampire Cowboys”….riddle it for yourselves, “darklings”.

The fact that I can’t stand Rice’s style in Rice’s books anymore does not help much either. I am prejudiced. I am sorry, all you vampire novel writers. All of a sudden, hmm no, some time ago, the Vampire Chronicals became petty and actually infantile to me, or maybe I got older and despite my sentiment for them, I can see their weak points, many of them. Rice castrated Vampire and we should all thank her. Thanks to her, the process of fang-castration continues and flowers like “Twilight” are produced. But the vampire-fans believe she made a vampire “real” and “believable”. Maybe she did. But somewhere in the process of “beatification” and “beautification”, she took away Vampire’s charm, bestiality, mystery, danger, and yes, that sublime dark beauty. Vampire became SO American.
If you’re European, you’ll understand what I am talking about.
Okay, it’s not about the Ricean world.

This post is actually about the vampire book I’ve just finished reading. I can’t say I read it page after page. BUT I read it from cover to cover, so to speak. It’s a book by Kyle Marffin titled “Gothique, A Vampire Novel”. And no, I am not writing a review, just a thought or two.

The front book cover

Gothique - A Vampire Novel by Kyle Marffin

Despite the fact that I didn’t really get emotionally attached to any of the characters, mortal or immortal, I enjoyed the story, not for its “vampire” quality though. The reason why I really liked it was because it was a pretty good satire on the Gothic subculture and Goths, especially those Goths who dream of being abducted by beautiful vampires and turned. I really did enjoy scenes where such a “Gothic lovely” met her fate and faced her “dream”, and it turned out that THE vampires are nothing like those in Rice’s books. They’re beautiful, maybe, but they are not so fucking – excuse my French – damn “Ricean”, and THAT, was a – excuse my French again – fucking relief! I laughed and felt almost a sadistic pleasure reading how one mortal “sweet dark lovely” character after another was waking up from that Ricean or Britean dream…

This complete surrender to that vampire Ricean fantasy has always irritated me. It was especially seen, and could be probed, on various online role playing boards. I could never understand it, for many reasons. And it’s not a place or time to list all of them. But the main one was, to me, this quick “giving in” . It has always shown the lack of character and that need to be “owned” or “possessed”. And oh dear Twain, when the words like “morality” or “humane” or “humanist” would always come to the spotlight, I always felt like in twilight zone of the twilight zone. Trust me, when an author attempts to dwell in ethics while writing and creating his or her vampire world, it would end up being yet another existentialist novel exploring writer’s fears, questions and doubts. It could have been enough and charming when I was young, but it’s not anymore. What I want now is the book about THE vampire of flesh and blood! I don’t want a blood drinker who spends eternity on questioning his or her existence whether it’s evil or “aevil”, or searching for answers that are somewhat easily found when you pass that annoying age of adolescence filled with self-importance, acid arrogance and erecting rebellion.

Anyway, yes, “Gothique” was entertaining and fed my sadistic fantasies even if only in this literary way. Plus, the characters of Cass and his roomate and friend Colleen, who both ended up being turned into vampires, remind me myself and my dearest Parisian fiend Killian.
Hmm, yes, go and read it.

Hell, Heaven and who deserves which.

April 8th, 2010 § 0 comments § permalink

I thought that for a change I’d write something that wouldn’t be about vampires and banshees. It will be about God, Christians and Catholics. Yes, I know, it does not sound promising, but hey, give me a chance! I promise there will be no pointless digressions! I am getting straight down to my point! And here it is! The dilemma whether all Christians go straightly to Hell or just everybody who isn’t Protestant! Atheists will love it! Aaaaand, I’ll probably end up with a nice dose of ranting anyway. But, I do need it.

Catholics say that Protestant say that most people deserve to go to Hell for one and obvious reason which is called “human nature” (hard to disagree with it, really. Philosophers call it “animal soul” hmm?), whereas all the Hippie Followers of Jesus & Mary aka The Catholics strongly disagree with it and carry on happily sinning because they believe that no one goes to Hell after all, because God is apparently a really nice laid-back old weed smoker. If you’re a born Catholic and lived an atheistiQUE “fuck-you-God” life for most of your adult years, all you need to do to escape Hell is to have a brain-lobotomy when you’re in your 60’ (or sometimes earlier when your Middle-aged crisis hits you), realising that you’re not getting any younger but already with one leg in your grave, you say aloud “mea culpa” and claim you heard God calling your name. Beautiful and simple, isn’t it? It is almost like buying indulgencies in Middle Ages.

The years are almost done and there are maybe a few more left. Most of people, if not all, have a hard time coping with the idea of Death and being gone. Needless to say, that when you’re old you’re maybe wiser but never old enough to be ready to leave, never. Especially if your demons have started catching up with you. You wake up one day, as the song goes, you’re not fresh and dandy anymore and you realise you’re not eternal. What will you do? You will cling to just anything which gives any hope of “non omnis moria” – faith and religion. I don’t necessarily see anything wrong with that. Everybody copes with the passing time as they please; hedonism until you throw your guts up, botox, plastic surgeries or Jesus. Because Youth, you see, is immortal until it’s over. “So, maybe the eternity of the Soul is a nice perspective after all”, Atheist wonders. “This is what I am going to do now, ‘God, are you there?’, I will be good and believe in case you’re there and I am fucked up.” When you’re young, Death and aging are abstract words which are used sometimes for masochistic spiritual masturbation, but these ideas are too distant and science-fiction to be true for any young. The young mind does what it must; rebels, whines, gets its body laid and mind drunk.

I’ve got hard time accepting once full-time and feverish atheists now true devout believers. There’s something wonderfully schizophrenic and cowardly in that, don’t you think? This species is really a modern nuisance along with free-style Bible interpreters, self-proclaimed prophets or preachers and generally any Christian religious sect out there with the commercial approach to Faith or religion, preaching the Big Words without really weighting or acknowledging their importance. And I think, I even have a harder time accepting this modern religious nonchalance and something which appears to be a total lack of sense of responsibility for ones actions or how one conducts themselves morally through life, as well as that tactlessness when it comes to use or abuse of words such as morality or moral modulation. Actions speak louder than words or promises. There’s no forgiveness without the feeling of guilt and true remorse. There is no Heaven without earning it. One could think that most of the Hippie Catholics (and generally Christians) forgot about these “details”. How fair is that? I mean, think about it, you live a materialistic life, you don’t care about anything unless it concerns you/yourself/and Irene, you curse God for the sake of cursing and the fact that “He allows all evil on this planet and kills the innocent children”. And then…and then after one or two decades of an atheistic life you come and say, “I am sorry, God” and expect to be all absolved? If you DO feel sorry, then, well, maybe. But, be fair, and ask yourself if you earned it?

So much for the real fundaments of the Catholic faith. Jesus’ Death on the cross washed all off of our sins. Did it? Personally, I never believed in that dogma. I believe that only I can wash off my “sins” through my own deeds, so to speak. What I believe is that Christ showed people something what never had its place before in this corner of the world (In the different corner of the world, Buddha had played that miracle a bit hmm earlier), he had told people that they could forgive their oppressors. Can you believe that? And that there’s certain liberating feeling in forgiveness (yes, I am hearing all of you atheists and pagans. What are you saying? There’s a feeling of selfish accomplishment in the act of forgiving? Possibly, maybe. But I prefer this selfishness to the more common and less noble one. We all know which one I am talking about.) Anyway, it was the religion of love in the world of the strict Old Testament “eye for an eye” law and the Roman disdain for the thing called Mercy which was generally understood as weakness. From this perspective, Jesus made a revolution. He actually preached something against the common sense at that time (well, in our times too), you could say. It’s hard not to hit back when you’re harassed and Jesus tells you to turn the other cheek. It’s crazy, isn’t it? Maybe. But, there’s genius in that, you see. Hah.

What happened after the crucifixion was, in my opinion, the fixation; the New Tastement happened (as if the Old Testament had not been already hard to digest) and Jesus’s Word turned into marble. For this reason our civilization went through wars in the name of God and everyone kept/keep arguing over the famous Book called the Holy. The Good Word has been interpreted horizontally, vertically and third-dimensionally too. Scholars and theologians are so busy with either proving existence or non-existence of Jesus or/and whether the Bible is truly holy or if Mary was a virgin, that they forget what it means to believe in Jesus. Yes, what does it mean to accept Jesus as your personal saviour? I am curious. I’ve always been interested in hearing the believers’s opinions on that. It stopped being a surprise to me when I hear something along the lines “He died on the cross for me so that I could go to Heaven” or “he’s my God, my Lord”. Such attitude borders with idolatry. Somehow, I never hear anyone saying “To accept Jesus as your personal saviour is to apply his teaching to your life. It means to live, or try to live, the life he lived”. There’s science in faith, well, certain dose of it. I believe that in order to believe you must understand. Blind faith leads to idolatry. I don’t care how heretic it sounds. I believe in something I call “the metaphysical understanding”, it make sense when we apply it to faith, it comes sometimes with vision or “eureka”. If you understand why, on this philosophical/ethical level, you suddenly see all the puzzles creating something greater, something finer…that is, if it’s not later polluted by narrow-minds. So, tell me, you, what does it mean to believe in Jesus?

Now, to go back to the very beginning of this “wondering” of mine. Are the Protestants right? Do all people deserve Hell? Most Christians do, if you ask me. I’ve never heard of a more arrogant faith than Christianity! Basically all Christian religions proclaim themselves to be close to God and compete with each other over which one of them has the more private phone line with Him. And there’s Christian God himself, who –through Bible – calls Himself the One and Only true God in the whole Universe. So, naturally, we can now understand where this Christian arrogance towards any other religion and nation comes from. Even though Pride is listed as one of the Seven Deadly Sins, the Christians apparently take pride in that – after all, if their God calls himself the Only True God, then He’s better than any other god out there, and with Him, the Christians are better than anyone else, and are entitled to do whatever they please. I realise, I am sounding demagogical now, I am doing that in order to point out how the Bible is read and interpreted in the popular culture. But what is more important, how the Book is handled now. It seems that either it’s understood literally or too much is read between the lines; from one extreme to another. I suppose now I could pose a question and ask if the Bible is the Word of God? Was it written by God? People have written countless books on that and still there’s no answer to it. Personally, no, I don’t believe it’s the Word of God. The end.

As much as I am not fond of Nietzsche, I think, I agree with his statement when he said that there was only one true Christian and he died on the Cross. I am wondering whether it’s the real remorse when you’re scared of the idea of going to Hell? If it’s just the fear of the eternal punishment which forces you to get on your knees and beg, how does it make the remorse real? Man would do or say anything to escape pain or suffering. It’s a little like about that thief who didn’t regret he was stealing but the fact he was caught. Like I said, there’s no forgiveness without the understanding of what was done wrong, and yes, along with it, comes the feeling of remorse and plead for forgiveness. How does the punishment in Hell can make the understanding real? But also, how does, hmm, the idea of divine amnesty can make all people worth in Heaven? If you get everyone absolved of their sins without them understanding the nature of those wrong-doings, the possibility of moral corruption is inevitable. To sum it up, the Christian idea of Hell and Heaven and punishment is like Man himself – peculiar, kitsch, amusing and ludicrous. I think though that Mark Twain summed it up far better than I ever could in his short novel “Letters from the Earth”.

Now you could think that all of it was written by an angsty, rebellious anti-Christian atheist? If you had assumed as much, you couldn’t have been far from the truth. I was born in a Catholic family in Poland. As a happy child I did not need God, and I think He perfectly understood it. Happy children don’t need God. I’ve got my own issues with this idea of Christian God but I have never had a need to go crazy over all that “spiritual thing”. So many things happen around me that I certainly cannot call myself an atheist. I am a grown up woman now who still does not need God. I am however the woman to whom John Paul the Second’s deeds speak louder than all of those televangelists’s feverish preaching you get when you turn on tv. There are also those Christian sects, especially in the North America, of which, I bet, even Vatican didn’t heard. I seriously developed allergy to this hmm American commercial religiousness. Anyway, as much I’ve got lots of “buts” to the Institution of the Catholic Church, I can consider John Paul the Second one of my few authorities – he was the man of action, James Bond of Christianity. He believed, it’s enough for me. You see, if people believed not necessarily IN Christ but just believed enough to follow his teachings, it would be enough. Now it’s more about the Idol than the Word. Sad. There are supposedly 2.1 billion of people who believe IN Jesus, but how many of them follow the word? Riddle me that, fellow human being. Sometimes I think that religion is Faith’s nightmare… Ehh…

Last Thought

April 5th, 2010 § 0 comments § permalink

On Anne Rice, writing and messianism…

January 19th, 2010 § 0 comments § permalink

There must be balance. And there must be kept a healthy distance and approach towards things in general or they get unbelievably and comically ridiculous. I could never understand extremes – people from both sides of – let’s say – an argument which has been going on since the release of Memnoch the Devil. I’ve been usually a silent observer watching people wrestling either with the books (the last one Blood Canticle in particular), their own emotions concerning the book/s and with the thought that Anne Rice would no longer write about vampires.

On one side you’ve got appearing to be raving-mad self-called Christians-true-Catholics calling The Vampire Chronicles “satanic books” and praising Anne Rice’s “coming back to the light” while on the other side of this barricade you’ve got so called old-readers – who’d jump to anyone’s throat (Anne Rice’s included) to defend “good old” Lestat – and with them old-school Goths throwing meat at Anne Rice and laughing at her –something what may appear – an eccentric change of literary path. Such extreme reactions from both sides are not only ridiculous and infantile, but also show the lack of common sense and with it, the lack of contact with reality; needless to say, they stand for a clear proof that people don’t pay attention to the literary label which all of Anne Rice’s books have – and that is FICTION. Of course love for the books may explain that, in my opinion, violent defense of the characters; but nothing explains idiocy or ignorance or ad-hominem. Both sides lack healthy distance towards (probably themselves and) the books which although may be influencing, they have always been and remain fiction. This and more, my friends, all of us should have in mind when any and each one of us attempt to write a critical essay or simply voice an opinion not only on matter of Rice’s writing but just on anything.

And there’s Anne Rice herself; although I have no difficulty with understanding Anne’s choice – or motives even – of/for changing her literary subject from gothic to catholic, so to speak, I don’t quite understand why Mrs. Rice acts as if everything prior to Christ the Lord was “ the literary shameful incidents” which need to be revised, reinterpreted and explained again in order to fit the new literary and religious route in her life and work. And this is exactly the impression I’ve been getting from her for a long time now – in interviews and messages to fans. It surprises me, it saddens me and leaves me utterly stunned and baffled. As much as I can understand Mrs. Rice’s lack of distance towards matters concerning her religious conversion which probably was/is the main reason of that lively debate she’s been having with fans and critics over the World Wide Web, I can’t understand the lack of mentioned distance towards herself and her writings. It is as if Mrs. Rice was ashamed of her neo-gothic literary “nest egg” which now has no place in her new professional and private life. So it has to be, like I already said, reinterpreted to not cloud or distort the message of “the Christian fiction”.

And here we’re getting closer to the point, I’ve got this feeling that the dangerous line has been crossed – when an author stops being a writer and turns into man with/on serious mission – a crusader. It is toxic, I could risk saying, when fiction using religion and its iconography wants indirectly to be something more than fiction; there’s danger of falling into demagogy, religious indoctrination and devout impotent preaching. Author’s motives may be honest and pure but lack of distance usually spoils the effect. Of course, choosing such dangerous form of rhetoric won’t repel declared believers, but it’s rather highly unlikely it will be accepted by many of old readers or enchant skeptics or those with undecided “religious preference”. It’s not my place to judge the literary quality or value of Anne Rice’s “Christian fiction”, but I believe it would have been taken and understood far better if Mrs. Rice had kept her personal life and religiousness away from her writing. I fear that Anne Rice’s good intentions of trying to speak about “the Word which became flesh” and her personal experience of “faith in ecstasy” fell under the category of indoctrination in this purely American style, or maybe it’s me being a typical central Eastern European born in the post communistic-catholic country and brought up in catholic family thus being completely resistant to basically any form of indoctrination or too flowery and nonchalant talk about somewhat private – if not intimate – matters such as religion and faith. Yes, I am aware that it’s not viewed as intimate to the American people, it explains the popularity of televangelism and everything that comes with it in the USA while here in Poland it’s viewed extremely negatively. “America the country of People who simply believe”, as I read somewhere, it does not matter in what, but they do.The idea of evangelization is completely different in this Slavic corner of Europe.

The Mayfair Witches series and the Vampire Chronicles series stand for a fine example of a neo-gothic literature which enchants people and will continue enchanting, there’s no hidden mission or a a satanic mission as some hard-catholic try to make those books look like. The Christ the Lord series though brought Rice’s fiction to a completely new level, they became a tool of evangelization and religious indoctrination basically because of a heavy personal involvement of Anne Rice herself. If you read some of the comments from new (Christian) Anne Rice readers concerning her New Catholic Fiction, you’ll find declaration of “coming back to the Church”; “feeling HIS presence”; “Anne Rice making Christ so believable” (which is funny really). One may ask if Anne writes just fiction, I believe it’s not just a fiction anymore. I also don’t think it’s necessarily a good thing either. Of course, I have no doubt that her new Christian readers are simply delighted, I remain reserved and skeptical.

Anyway, instead of attempting to proceed further with some psychoanalytical analysis – so commonly performed in quasi biographies or in essays dealing with Anne Rice, her religious conversion and latest books – which could probably give laboured answers to all of my “whys” here, I prefer to pose only questions and wonder, and mourn. This is just a sketch to perhaps a deeper and nice thesis dealing on social psychology and literature and how an author turns from a writer into a preacher and their word becomes “THE word”, or “THE flesh”.

And when I thought that I was on the right Path

December 17th, 2009 § 0 comments § permalink

I just came to a rather amusing conclusion…that I either I go back to my old habit of writing about art with this sarcastically sharp fang…or I’ll bore myself to death –and kill all of you my potential readers -writing in this [quasi]academic manner.

Insomnia, my friend.

December 10th, 2009 § 1 comment § permalink

I can’t sleep.  Freezing and melancholic, I can’t stop listening to Lisa Gerrard’s “The Sea Whisperer”. Her voice and music is so beautiful, sad and at the same time comforting. I know that in my current psychological condition I should not be listening to her music.  But.  But my previous attempts of forcing myself to enjoy more cheerful or energetic  musical pieces just fell through. I heard the sounds but at the same time I was deaf to them.

If I could add a visual presentation of this particular piece and my longing of a peace of mind… it would be Arnold Bocklin’s “Villa by the Sea” or “The Island of the Dead”.

Villa by the Sea by Arnold Bocklin

Villa by the Sea by Arnold Bocklin

The Island of the Dead by Arnold Bocklin

The Island of the Dead by Arnold Bocklin

These places appear in my dreams often…

Gods, I should take some rest. There’s a comfort in sleep which I had not known before. When You fall asleep, your mind switch off. There’s some consolation in that, yes..

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